


Obscurial

by Voidspeaker (Cloudspun)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Counselling is available to students, Gen, Ilvermony is not a thing, Professor Potter, The events of Fantastic Beasts 2 are not acknowledged, as with another of my fics the warning is for REFERENCED content not actual depictions, at least, both those who witnessed the war and those who just deal with shit at home, no betas we die like men, not the main thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudspun/pseuds/Voidspeaker
Summary: Harry James Potter is the school psychologist (training in psychology on a clinical scale was a requirement of leaving the Aurors, particularly because of what he had seen), as well as the Defense teacher. The new year brings a transfer student -not unheard of, but rare- from one of the American magical communities -definitely unheard of, but not impossible- who deals with things.Hopefully, Harry can assist in dealing with those things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of a Linear Circle - Part I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284494) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> THIS IS AN UNPLANNED FIC.  
> I don't know when or where inspiration will leave me. I don't know if this story will resolve before I lose steam. I'll certainly try to keep going for as long as I can because despite the author I loved this series growing up.  
> Many, many thanks to Flamethrower for her amazing fic; it stirred up the fire, as it were, and between that and watching a friend play Wizards Unite I ended up with a wild plotbunny taking me for a spin.

The new student among the first years was odd enough to catch his eye; first, they were obviously not 11, he’d peg them as fifteen, or perhaps sixteen. Second, it might’ve been the lighting but he could almost swear that their eyes were glowing faintly. It was probably the lighting. Thirdly, they were hunkered down, glancing about like they were afraid of something.

He knew that fear. He knew it well, and had had students coming to him for the past five years to ask for help in coping with it. Hell, next year he’d need to get an assistant, because it’d be unprofessional for him to help James when he started -if the boy needed help at all, that is- and he’d rather his assistant be settled for a year before unleashing that kind of chaotic force on them.

Firsties he knew how to help. Sixth years who should nearly be old enough to leave their situations, he didn’t know how to help. What was he supposed to tell them? “Hold out for another year, you’re almost free”? That wouldn’t have helped him, not in the slightest.

“Headmistress McGonagall?” He murmured to the seat next to his.

“Yes, Professor Potter?” Her voice was just as soft as his own.

“Who’s the obviously-not-a-first-year student among the new first-years? And how should I reach out, they look more frightened than the dying unicorn from _my_ first year.”

“They’re a transfer from the Appalachian Magical Community. There was… an incident. The community heads felt that they might thrive better here for their last three years, their birthday fell after the cutoff date for school starting, so officially they’re a fourth-year, even though they’re fifteen. Perhaps just try being yourself? As I recall, the best way to soothe a frightened student is to be nonthreatening. The second best would be to treat them like anyone else in your class, I’m sure their fellow students will send them to you if they see the need.”

—

He saw the new fourth-year, Acheron Morrow (who in their right goddamned mind named a child after the Greek river of Pain and Woe?) in his group therapy sessions about a week after that first feast. He’d seen them in class before that, his defense classes were finally starting to clear of the starry-eyed and hero-worshiping and were giving way to those who asked him good questions. Hard questions. The kind of questions that had driven him from the MLE.

Acheron (who had asked everyone to just call them Ash) had asked the hardest one of all:

“If I know someone can be saved, but the ones I answer to tell me to kill them because they’re irredeemable, what should I do?”

Harry James Potter had been unable to answer, his MLE-trained reaction to listen to orders conflicting with his instinct to save those who could be saved.

Now, Ash was sitting on the edge of his after-class therapy-and-study group. The gathering was good for studying with an accepting crowd, talking about problems, warning people who they should avoid if they had certain triggers, and how to cope with abuse while at home.

Usually, a new participant would introduce themselves and mention any triggers. Ash, though, sat at the edge of the group, looking scared and nauseous and like they might bolt at any time. Harry thought for a moment, debating with himself.

McGonagall’s advice when he had first mentioned the need for this kind of group came unbidden.

“Well, Potter, since you’re so adamant that this needs to be, why not be the person that you needed? The voice of reason against the manipulators and abusers who yet linger in your mind? You’re certainly qualified enough, now that you’ve been through the Aurors’ psychological training. I can speak to Poppy, if you’d like her advice.”

Harry found himself approaching the newest fourth-year.

“May I sit here?” He asked softly. Icy blue eyes met his own -and yes, they were _definitely glowing_ , Hermione would have a field day-, searching for something, but he felt no pressure against his mental shields. Ash dropped their gaze, nodded, and scooted away slightly from the chair next to them. Harry sat, and kept his voice gentle as he spoke. “You asked me a very good question in Defense, earlier. I think I’ve come up with a good answer, but I’m not sure. You asked what I would do if told to kill a person others had called irredeemable, but who I knew to be saveable.”

“I’d spare them and shelter them, and damn the ones who said they couldn’t be saved. Anyone can change, and it takes a lot to be truly irredeemable. Like literally shattering your soul and trying to be wizard-Hitler. That is irredeemable. And even then, it’s not my decision alone. I kind of ended up being the wand of the entire school and the continent with it.”

He saw a brief flash of a smile. “You’d definitely be the one to know that.”

Ash glanced around the room again, shut their eyes tight, and sighed.

“Don’t like large groups?” Harry ventured.

“Don’t want to cause a repeat of what happened back home.” Ashe replied.

“May I ask what happened? All I was told is that you transferred from the AMC.” Harry pressed. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Or, if you’d rather not talk about it in group, that’s fine. Part of my exit-training with the Aurors was in psychology, both magical and mundane, and how to help myself and others; when I brought up to the Headmistress that we’d have a lot of students with PTSD, she let me establish these group therapies, and one-on-one therapy via Madame Pomfrey. After everything about… Dumbledore’s _plans_ came out, Pomfrey went and got the certifications they require for social workers and magical psychologists.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, that was a lot. Long story short, if you want or need help, just tell me or Madam Pomfrey. We’ll help you figure out what works best.”

Ash looked him full in the eye, then, and this time Harry felt a feather-light pressure against the mental walls. Then, as suddenly as it was there, it was gone again, and they spoke before he could ask or reprimand.

“I’m not… not quite where I’m ready to talk. Thank you, though. I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (It's a shorty, oops)  
> Professor Harry James Potter knows things from his time as an Auror. Thing one, Obscuri do not exist. Thing two, sneaking up on former members of the MLE is a bad idea.

“An Obscurus.”

“That’s what we were told, yes.” McGonagall sighed.

“A theory that has _been proven incorrect_ is why we have a fourth-year from the southeastern States? Minerva, you have to be joking. Ash is… is scared, sure, but… I’ve never seen someone embrace magic so tightly, and I’m best friends with _Hermione Bloody Granger_. There has to be more to it than that.” Harry could feel it, could feel the edge of something massive just out of his reach.

“Acheron Morrow was discovered the day after the autumn full moon in a clearing surrounded by the bodies of what people believed were would-be attackers. A few were their fellow students, the eldest was a former teacher who had been fired for misconduct towards his students. All the bodies bore the same injury patterns, and Acheron was severely traumatized. It’s my understanding that there was a massive burst of magic just after midnight. Those who remembered compared it to the Obscurus incident in New York eighty years ago.“

“So clearly Ash is an example of a proven-false magical event because someone has fuzzy memories of something happening in New York almost an entire century ago.” Harry tried to keep his voice deadpan, tried to keep the anger leashed, but _oh_ it was hard. “Go ahead, tell another one.”

“ _Mister_ Potter,” McGonagall hissed icily, “That is the official description of events. Until such time as a reliable witness tells us exactly what happened, that is the only description we can accept.”

“Um…”

Harry had his wand out and nearly cast a stunning spell; McGonagall, in the corner of his eye, seemed to be of a similar mind before she lowered her wand.

“Mx. Morrow. I really must insist that you knock, and _loudly_. Startling two former members of MLE can have rather bad side effects.” She sighed. “How much did you hear?”

“Only… um… only the bit about having no reliable witnesses. I read the report, and… they got a lot of things wrong. Like me being the only person left alive, and it being only members of the school community there. I can… I can put the memory in a pensive, if you want me to. They refused when I offered then, because I ‘wasn’t a reliable witness’. I’m not an obscurus risk, if that’s what they told you. I just… have some interesting defense mechanisms when wandwork fails."


	3. Chapter 3

Ash didn’t use their wand to pull the memory free, as Harry had been taught to. Instead, they traced their fingers over the rim of the bowl and let a silvery tear fall from their left eye into the misty waters.

“The eyes show the truth…” McGonagall murmured, as the pensive’s contents turned from stormy grey to a faint lavender hue. “You do not have to accompany us, Mx. Morrow.”

“I see this enough in nightmares that it’s good to see the actual event instead.” Ash responded, voice soft. Harry filed that tone away to ponder at, later. He leaned in towards the memory first.

—

The drop was gentler than the falls into Dumbledore’s pensive, that much Harry was grateful for. The clearing he landed in, though… the air was cold enough to snap. The trees were somewhere between green and their full autumn glory, and the open space was filled with mist.

“They’re called the Great Smoky Mountains for a reason.” Ash offered, from off to his left. McGonagall made some indecipherable sound to his right. Then, footsteps silenced any reply he would have made.

“Lisa, are you sure about this? None of us knows how to make a proper disguise yet, and we’ll be caught to boot. We should go back.”

“Come on, Ash, Jen, Bec. They said it was gonna be a big equinox party. Staff too. Maybe it’s not an official party, and that’s why they didn’t announce it?” Lisa’s voice was slightly lower than what Harry would expect, but then Ash had looked like a girl when he’d seen them in class the first time. Looks were not how one learned another’s gender, he’d found that out by watching a fellow Auror get his ass kicked for his offenses. Repeatedly.

They followed the four teenagers through the trees; McGonagall murmured something about a bad feeling, Ash had said that they would have to wait and see.

“You made it!” The person who greeted the quartet looked to be a young man just this side of seventeen. “We were just setting up for the main event!”

“Um… Jack? Where are all the teachers? The other students? You said this was a community-wide thing.” Ash spoke up, their voice wavering a bit. Jack made a pooh-pooh gesture, and herded the four youths into the center of the larger clearing.

“It _is_ a community wide thing. Just… not the magical community.” The new voice was older. Definitely male. “After all, best way of fixin’ fucked up kids like you is showin you the error of your ways. Ain’t it, boys?”

Harry felt his blood run cold as boys and men appeared in a circle around the four children. Ash and Lisa immediately pressed the other two between them; Ash’s face bore a snarl and those strange glowing eyes were a pair of stars in the misty darkness.

Things happened almost too quickly for him to follow. The group of attackers rushed the four; Lisa yanked her wand out, but it was knocked away. Two started to drag her off from the others (tried dragging them all off, certainly), and there was enough movement that what happened was nearly lost in the scuffle.

Ash said nothing, before the darkness exploded from their feet. Literally exploded from their feet, shadows becoming corporeal and physical and violently protective. In a split second, the attackers were scattered in a ring around them, still as the dead and for good reason.

“Oh… oh my god…” Lisa shivered, staring at the two men, one of whom had been midway through pulling his pants off; Jen reached out to her from where two others had been grappling her, while Bec was on his(?) knees, retching. Ash was stock-still, eyes distant.

“Lisa. Go find the groundskeeper. Tell him we need the most trusted of the staff immediately. Take Jen with you. We do not go anywhere alone for the foreseeable future.” Ash’s voice was distant, but Harry saw none of the obvious signs of tampering; it was more of the vocal distance that he’d heard victims of abuse and violence adopt when they hit survival mode. Violet mist shimmered around him, as memory-Ash dropped to the ground.

—

The return was as gentle and gradual as the descent had been; still, though, Harry felt prickles of rage and confusion fighting in the back of his mind.

“I don’t understand. That magic… it looked like how I’ve heard Obscuri described, but you were never consumed by it.” McGonagall was saying.

“Minerva, I _told_ you. Obscuri _are **not** a thing_. That… that was…” He trailed into silence, staring blatantly at Ash.

“Like I said. When wandwork fails, I… have unique ways of protecting myself. Lisa and Jen were pulled from school the next morning; Jen’s parents were in town, and they know Lisa’s mom well enough to be able to check Lisa out permanently. Bec was traumatized enough that he ended up transferring across the country to the Pacific Northwest; I still get letters from him occasionally.“ Ash shrugged, keeping hands in pockets and eyes down. Harry wondered idly what Minerva would have to say about their student’s glowing eyes.

“I’ve never seen magic like that before.” McGonagall replied firmly. “If it isn’t wandwork and it isn’t an Obscurus, what is it then?”

“Looked like shadows.” Harry replied offhandedly. “Shadows from the woods around them, pooled at their feet, waiting to be released.”

“It’s a kind of… well… it’s magic used by nonmagical people. Runs in their bones instead of being a separate thing. My mom… my mom taught me a long time ago.” Ash’s expression closed, Harry saw it close as clearly as if the teen had closed a door. “It’s something I maintain even now, just with my magical core to fuel it. Good for undetectable wards.”

“Perhaps you should tell us about it this weekend, over tea. I’ll expect you both on Sunday at two.” McGonagall chuffed; Harry winced, that wasn’t the tone one should use when people were vulnerable, but he still held a healthy fearespect of the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Ash, he noticed, didn’t react at all, save for a near-silent ‘yes ma’am’. The teen turned and left quickly, not even reclaiming the memory from the pensive.

“Poppy will be in attendance, as well, Professor Potter,” McGonagall added. “I’d like her to look Mx. Morrow over and make sure that those glowing eyes aren’t a sign of something worse.”

“Just… please be careful, Minerva. Ash is… there’s something painful buried there. Let me be the one to coax it out, please. Otherwise we might find those wards up even against us, and Ash would be the one to suffer for it.” Harry didn’t like the pleading note in his voice, but he knew how much trust it took to bring them that memory.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry found himself tracing the stairs to his rooms, memories heavy on his mind.

One, in particular, haunted him.  
 _"He's just a kid, Martin! If anything we should arrest his parents and take him into protective custody!"  
_

_"Potter, you need to get used to the fact that not everyone can be saved. He's Obscurial, we can't risk the general public."  
_

_"Mayhaps you need to listen more closely. Auror Martin, you will not lay a hand on that child."_

_"You pullin rank, Potter?"  
_

_"Damned straight. You leave the kid to me, deal with his parents."  
_

_"And if I don't?"  
_

_"I'll show you what an adult so-called Obscurial can look like."_

He'd been heavily disciplined for that event, but he'd gotten the boy safely to the Wizarding Child Services; the boy had been tutted over, broken bones mended and bruises eased. Harry had promised that little boy he would be safe, and damned if he hadn't kept that promise. After five years, there hadn't been a whiff of an Obscurus from the boy's new family. After three of monitoring, the MLE had begun the slow revision process to deal with this new revelation.

It didn't save the countless youth that had been arrested or put down when their powers snapped, but it had made a point, which had been taken and learned from. The idea that Harry James Potter had planted, that obscurials were just abused kids, stuck.

It had changed nearly two hundred years of laws and bylaws, it would protect hundreds of thousands of children in magical families and Harry convinced himself that that had to be enough. It had to be.

He couldn’t turn back time and save the thousands more that had been taken into custody and - likely - killed over the past god only knew how many years.

“Professor Potter?”

Bloody hell but he hated the twitch-reaction he had to people sneaking up on him. He was just glad that part of his training had been containing that reaction so that he could still fire the spell off faster than lightning, but he could think before doing it.

“Mx. Morrow, forgive me but curfew is approaching and if I remember right-” Harry checked the teen’s robes; black and yellow edging danced at the hems, “-Hufflepuff dorms are a bit of a walk from here.”

“Sorry. I just... There was more to that memory, and about the wards. And... I can get back to bed unseen, I just needed to talk to you, because that’s not all of what happened.” Acheron looked uncomfortable.

“Into my office, then, and I’ll escort you back so Mister Filch doesn’t have a field day.”

\---

It was like holding down an Erumpet to keep the rage from boiling out of his chest; Harry listened patiently as Ash told the rest of the story - pieces that trauma had stolen from them, that Lisa and Bec and Jen had filled in via letters or that they’d remembered in nightmares. The hissed words in hallways, the ‘mis-fired’ curses, the bullying and multiple attempts at assault and worse, both before and after the remembered night, and the details about the wards that Ash had turned to as a last resort when they’d been unable to stop one of the altercations.. He wrote it down to explain to Minerva, and after checking the clock gave Ash a convenient and mild detention with Professor Longbottom in the greenhouses for the duration of Professor McGonagall’s meeting.

“As the school psychologist and counselor, I am grateful for your trust in me; if you feel up to attending this meeting - I did see how your expression turned, vigilance is something that I was taught even before I became an Auror - you know the when and where, you just need to tell Professor Longbottom. I understand, given the gravity of what you’ve told me, if you would rather not disclose the more physical aspects of your warding. The Headmistress did want Madam Pomfrey to look you over, I think the tendency for your eyes to glow caused her some concern. I can relay the rest of this, if you wish.”

Ash thought for a moment, before nodding. “Professor McGonagall means well, and I understand that she’s light years better than the previous headmaster for actually caring for people and not just going through the motions-” Harry chuckled dryly and nodded, he’d experienced that lack of genuine caring multiple times, “-but... I don’t think she’d get it. You’ve been closer to that experience of being othered. Not entirely, but... you get it to a better degree. If that makes sense,” they added as an afterthought.

“Perfect sense,” Harry agreed. “Want me to just relay the important details? And if she insists on the physical, I can at least lobby for the comforts and privacy of the hospital wing.” Ash nodded, eyes downcast and expression closing.

“Want to pause by the kitchens before going to your common room? They’re very close together, and I bet we can ask the elves for hot chocolate.” Hermione, after much archive-hunting, had found the original contracts with the elves and goblins of old, along with others, and had brought it to the attention of the Ministry and McGonagall. The treatment of elves, goblins, and other nonhuman races had changed dramatically overnight, as though the heads of those races had also received copies of the ancient decrees and treaties. The Hogwarts elves were now treated like the other faculty, though they kept their original duties without a word of complaint.

Ash nodded again, rising from their seat.  
“Thank you, Professor.” They added after a moment.

“That’s why I’m here, Mx. Morrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's short and i should add that all of this is raw unbeta'd direct from my tumblr. so please feel free to point out spelling and grammar issues because i will have missed them as I am.

It took three minutes of re-hashing and confirming and patient, deep breaths to get through what was supposed to be a thirty-minute meeting. Minerva was apparently no stranger to the concepts of trauma, nor to that of supposedly corrective measures used on those who did not conform to the “traditional” Christian model of attraction and sexuality.

Minerva didn’t care a single bit that Ash had been given means to conveniently skip out of the meeting between herself, them, Harry and Poppy; What she focused on -much like a cat chasing a mouse- was what Ash had been ok with Harry relaying.

The thin veil of calm over barely-contained rage caused Harry to compare his own protective rage to little more than a flicker of a dying ember. Minerva said nothing of the sort, but he wondered now if she had suffered or had someone important suffer. She agreed to let Poppy‘s inspection of their exchange student happen behind the safely warded doors of the hospital ward, and even took Ash’s scribbled half-explanations of the shadow wards they maintained.

Harry had squinted over the brief essay repeatedly; according to Ash, the wards were self-maintained once set up, though they seemed like they should be more draining than Ash let on. The young mage had pointedly refused to write out or speak aloud the incantations that invoked the wards for the first time, insisting that, for one thing, it ‘drew eyes best left blinded’. For another, they’d said, the wards used blood magic, which was more common in the deep south where the land was steeped in blood, both from those bound to it in chains and those driven from it in tears. They’d noticed Harry’s flinch, had smiled sadly and said it was better that the method die with them, once mortality finally figured out that it had missed them.

Harry had quietly encouraged them to let go of such thoughts, darkness didn’t exist without light and they had plenty of opportunity to follow both in and out of school. They’d just shrugged.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lil something for the season; I think I'm running out of steam, but the story's on the backburner now. Not dead, just hiatus perhaps.
> 
> Also, yes, I wrote this on my phone during breaks at work. No beta and almost no editing. Hope it's still enjoyable, though.

He got to witness the transfer's "last ditch" defenses first hand exactly _Once_.  
It was Halloween-of course it was Halloween, it was ALWAYS Halloween- when it happened. Dementors appeared on the grounds seemingly from nowhere; they hadn't been seen in force since the last Battle.  
He was movement, fast as any human could be, racing over the grounds to try and defend his students, when he saw Ashe crumple.  
Crumple wasn't the right word.  
Kneel?  
They were on their knees, bracing their left arm against the ground while the scarf they normally kept wrapped around their dark hair hung limply around their neck. He didnt speak the words, but his stag patronus flew from his wand and charged the line of dementors.  
And dissipated.  
Harry skidded ro a stop five feet from Ash, feeling his chest grow cold, he hadn't even caused the hooded creatures pause...  
"No. Not here. Not now, nor ever, _ever_ again." Ashe whispered, but the words might as well have been a thunderclap. They rose, the wound cloth on their arms falling away; their left had a strange tattoo, or perhaps it was a magical burn scar. Markings like those left by an octopus's grasp, bordered by jagged lines, wound tightly around their arm, starting from the wrist and then looping up under their shirt.  
"You cannot have them." Ashe sounded older, and in that instant, Harry saw not a fifteen-year old beside him, but an adult, perhaps only a few years younger than he was. They held, not a wand, but a staff of Yew in their right hand, and held their left out.  
The next words from their lips were horribly garbled, the words tugging at his mind as they passed his ears; he felt something tug about his ankles, and saw his shadow, as well as every other shadow for a hundred yards, yank from its place and coalesce in a whirlwind around the hooded shapes -which, in truth, he was beginning to suspect weren't actually dementors. The air pulsed with power; older-Ashe spoke something that wasn't a word, and the tattoo on their arm visibly writhed. The hooded creatures keened, and vanished with a -pop-.  
Ashe listed to the side, then collapsed.  
" _Oblivus sum, et recordabor_." They whispered, before unconsciousness stole them away.  
Harry blinked, confused to see the teenager where they should be, the extensive silver scar reddening angrily on their skin. He turned his attention to the other students, all of them looked rattled but unharmed.  
One was wearing a Prefect pin; he met their eye, and got a nod of acknowledgement.  
"C'mon you lot, straight to the hospital wing! Our teachers will understand."  
Harry scooped Ashe up in his arms, his heart clenching at how cool and still the fourth-year was; he muttered a curse at the lack of weight, too, but that was for Pomfrey to deal with. His knowledge of how to help the body was limitied.  
Sometimes he wished it wasn't so, but he knew his limits. Usually.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Block is really kicking my ass, bot for this fic and for others that i'm actively working on  
> There's a tense shift, here. Made writing this easier. If it's too awkward, I can change it or change the rest of the fic, either way i can make em match.

Harry notices Ashe’s absence in the rush towards Yule: they’re not present in the weekly meetings, they’re not noticeable in the Great Hall after someone uses Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to render all the second-year-and-up-dorms _in every house_ into uninhabitable zones. He knows, objectively, that they’re present in class, but somehow he’s so busy keeping the rest of his dunderheads in line that… they slip through the cracks.

He really hates to think that he let _anyone_ suffer like that, but there’s nothing he can objectively do right now. He’s getting swamped by kids who’re afraid to go home, and by essays that get longer every year.

He dreams, occasionally. Not the tortured dreams of years gone by, no. He’s on that field again, facing the not!dementors. The Older Ashe is off to his left by some twenty feet, their staff raised like a beacon.

The words echo in his mind.

_Oblivus sum, et recordabor._

Sometimes he glimpses something beneath the robes of the not!dementors. Something _twisted_ , something _wrong_. Something that does not exist in either the magical or mundane worlds.

Sometimes, he glances through the shadows that boil out from Older Ashe, and he sees stars. Galaxies. Something curved, flexible, that makes him think of the membrane surrounding an amoeba. The edge of the universe, maybe?

He goes home over Christmas, spends what feels both like a day and a year visiting his extended, adopted family. James, Albus, and Lily are all bright-eyed with wonder over the Burrow in full holiday form, as they are every year. And, like every year, he apparates to Godric’s Hollow just after tucking his children into bed and promising Ginny he’ll only be a short while.

He brings the good whiskey, every year.

He shares a drink with his parents, tells them everything that’s happened and everything that has changed.

He stares out into the wood, feeling eyes on him that belong to no creature known to magician or mundane human.

This time, though… This time, the gaze from the woods feels warmer. Kinder. Like an acknowledgement. He still does not brave that darkness, because Harry James Potter is no fool, but he raises a toast to whatever, _whomever_ , is out there before he leaves.

He also makes a point, this year, to place the beautifully-made bottle of whiskey on a stump this side of the graveyard fence.

“After some of the things I’ve seen, I’ve got a feeling you need the rest of this more than I and mine do. Thank you for looking after this place.” He says, before turning and walking the other way. He does not look back, he does not feel the air change. He certainly doesn’t know if the bottle of whiskey will be found there the next day.

(He _knows_ , and it will not.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly enough, I had a little bit of inspiration to work with today as well as yesterday. So, double-whammy.  
> Except not really. Whump-fic isn't my specialty.

It’s a week into the new semester. Pomfrey tells him that she’s been talking to Ashe one-on-one. Harry isn’t _jealous_ , he’s exceptionally curious. Too, he’d like to know how to deal with these new not!dementors. This is obviously a threat to his students, his home, and everything he cares about, so he’s trying _very hard_ not to bulldog the topic. According to Ginny, he’s been a bit of an arse about things he cares about, previously.

“They’re a remarkably calm young person, Harry. They even told me - that scar on their left side? The one that looks like they had a fight with an octopus? They got it from a hooded creature similar to the ones that came out of the Dark Forest. They said that the best commonly-known way to deal with such creatures -Mx. Morrow called them _Crooked Men_ , of all things!- was the Fire-Making spell. Or, any fire, really. They did mention that Fiendfyre is particularly effective, but Incendio is one that everyone will know how to use.”

Harry nods, making a note of both the creatures’ name, and the method of dealing with them. “Have they mentioned any memory issues? Blank spots, something along those lines? I thought I heard a variation of Obliviate, but I’m not certain. Adrenaline high, and all.”

“They mentioned blacking out just after seeing the crooked men,” Pomfrey pauses to chuckle at the name, which Harry finds a little irritating, “Their memory resumes from when they came to here in the Hospital wing. Most of the students who got here after you did mention seeing shadows boil up and out from Ashe’s wand, but their observations were all very conflicting. Do you remember what happened, Harry?“

“Mx. Morrow’ has some extremely unique wards that they’ve placed on themself, though they’ve said previously that those wards are a last method of defense. I can only guess that the number of crooked men made them panic and resort to those wards first.” Harry’s thinking hard, now. “They spoke some kind of incantation that I’ve never heard before; it didn’t sound like any of the languages I know, it might be one that comes from America. That’s what caused the shadows to boil up and coalesce. It looked like fire, almost, but there was no heat to it. It surrounded the things like a bubble and pulled inward; they vanished with a popping sound, and Mx Morrow collapsed.”

Harry wondered, briefly, why none of this had been brought up when it happened. Then again, he’d delivered Ashe to Pomfrey and immediately bolted back outside to the Forest to make sure there were no more dangers lurking.

He’s a _Defense_ professor, after all. It’s what he _does_.


End file.
